Chapter Text
It's always the little, anticlimactic things that tend to cause disproportionate distress in people. For example, given the crazy existence that Max leads, she shouldn't be having a crash out at her toaster, that clutches onto her breakfast like it is the one ring itself. Yet here she was, muttering curses at the machine as she fished out the crumbling bread with tongs.
"Damn it!" She breathed, as the wreckage of the toast stared back at her from the tiny pink plate. Bean gave a loud meow from the ground. Max scrunched her nose at the cat's expectant eyes as she passed him the pink plate, his second breakfast that morning. He sniffed it, hesitated, but gulped it down all the same. "You wouldn't last a day in the wild, you know that?" She said, petting the flabby ginger eating noisily at her feet. Max shuffled in her grey pyjamas towards the fridge, and grabbed the first fruit her eyes landed on. A pear for breakfast can't be too bad right?
The landline rang. "Morning sweetheart!" the cheerful voice trilled in her ears. "Morning dad," she chirped, trying to match his energy. She'd never been a morning person, unlike her father. She gets it from her mother, he'd often say.
"How are you holding up? Any incidents? Did you sleep well?"
"Mm yeah, got 8 hours of rest," she lied, "and not a mouse stirring, so stop worrying."
"Had breakfast yet?"
"Some fruits, we're all out of bread though," she said, eyeing the toaster with contempt.
"Have you got enough money to buy more? If not, you can always go to the Millers they'll-"
"Dad," she cut him short, "You left me enough money to last the week, calm down"
"How's the motel? Sarah came in on time?"
"Motel's fine, Sarah came in on time, and before you ask, no I did not let anyone suspicious check in. It's going smoothly so far."
"Well you can only be so careful," His tinny voice sighed.
"How about you, how's the hunt going?" She flipped the subject before he found more things to worry about.
"Ah, hunt's going pretty well I'd say. We still need more data on this but I think it's werewolves." His voice lit up.
"Werewolves? They're real?"
" 'Course they're real, Max. And now I'll get to hunt one!" He said, brimming over with excitement. Max missed this side of him, wished she could see it as a whole, instead of catching stray glimpses of it from where it was buried under the tears and tequila. Like now.
"Honestly, I'm still not comfortable leaving you alone like that, are you sure you-"
"I'm fine, I'm old enough to take care of myself now, you know?" She groaned. He wouldn't have gone, almost didn't go, had it not been for Gary and the fact that Dad owed Gary his life.
She heard a clattering sound on the other end. "Alright, kid, remember to salt the-"
"Doors and windows, keep a revolver ready to go, and if in doubt or danger run straight to Father Jim and wait for you to come back. I got it." Max could swear her father would be smiling proudly right now.
"Well then, take care sweetheart." She mumbled a response and hung up.
She slumped on the sofa, the cat following soon after. 8:30 on a Sunday morning, the day had infinite possibilities. Well, infinite if you had nothing planned, unlike Max. She picked up an old newspaper, which was spread out on the coffee table, an insignificant headline circled with a blunt pencil; Dinner to Disaster: Man Found Dead in Local Diner.
There was a haunting in her neighbourhood, and Max was determined to solve it as her very own first case.
--
In the 11 years that Max had lived in the Mystic Meadow Inn, the glaring "NO ENTRY WITHOUT AUTHORISATION" on the housekeeping door never failed to make her feel like she was breaking into the Louvre. Really, though, she was just going to see Sarah. Sweet old Sarah, who was wheeling a cart back into its place, managed a smile at the sight of the teen hovering at the doorstep. "Morning Sarah! I'm going to get some groceries, can you manage the counter for the next hour?" She asked naively. Sarah nodded busily, not like she had a choice anyway. "You're out of salt," She mumbled, picking up an unlabelled bottle. Salt, of course. Max made a mental note of salvaging salt from the doors and windows later, squeaked an "Alright, thank you!" and let the door fly behind her.
Adjusting her sling bag, she started towards the main building which housed the reception and their own living space. A cool breeze lifted her copper curls, it would rain later, she thought, glancing at the greying sky. She hoped it wouldn't rain, not favourable for setting fire to desecrated graves. Picking up her bike, she worked the case over in her mind once again:
Penny's Palace is a local diner owned by Doug Henderson. A man without wife and children, he bought the joint in an auction last August, and has since transformed the desolate building into a well regarded homely restaurant. About a week ago, Robert Shaw, a middle aged sales manager, was found dead with bruise marks all over his body in restroom of Penny's palace. The strange part? Shaw was all alone at the time of death, according to the security camera footage. According to his wife, Louise Shaw, who was his dining partner that night, Robert hadn't step foot in the town ever since he moved to New York 30 years ago. They arrived two days before the incident, to celebrate his sister's 50th birthday. The Shaws can't think of any people who might intend to murder Robert, if it was a murder.
That's where I come in, Max thought. According to her research, whatever she could do with the city's public archives and the internet, the building used to be a residential space, long ago. A woman, Margaret Hill, was beaten to death by her husband there, which was followed by the building's foreclosure and subsequent commercialization as the town grew. Her guess? Margaret's spirit was somehow awakened or disturbed, and she is out to punish abusive husbands. After all, Mrs. Shaw looked almost relieved when the press questioned her.
She parked her bike among a bunch of motorcycles and entered the empty supermart, breathing in the sweet scent of fresh plastic. The cashier, a senior at her high school, gave her an indifferent glance and went back to chewing gum and reading the latest Fashion Weekly. Max slid into the bakery aisle, and grabbed a loaf of bread from the dwindling shelves. She also grabbed a box of overpriced cookies. A treat, for when she hunts the spirit.
"Hey," someone whispered behind her. Max spun on her heels in surprise and found John's idiotic grin. "Oh hey, what are you doing here?" She asked, trying not to sound rude. He was the last person she wanted to run into. "Grabbing some salt. We've been out for days and no one bothered to make this treacherous trip to the mart," he said and started walking. "So you took it upon yourself like the valiant hero that you are?" They chuckled. John always talked like that, it started to grow on her.
"Dr. Corts was asking about you on Friday," He said, putting on a serious face.
"Aww, she misses me already?" She deflected, and received an unamused stare.
"You can't ignore her forever, Max,"
"John, I'm fine, okay? It's been a whole year, and I think I've dealt with it pretty nicely,"
"Pretty nicely like skipping school?" He stopped at the end of the aisle and stared at her sternly.
"Why won't you just talk to someone about this?" He threw his hands in the air.
"Because, I don't need to talk about Cindy and her-" She stopped short as she glanced at the empty condiments aisle. "Why is there no salt?"
She ran up to the counter and slammed her palm almost desperately, "Where's the salt?" She demanded. The cashier looked up lazily, "Transport strike. Stock hasn't been delivered in the past week or so."
"So when will it be delivered?"
"When the strike ends, obviously." She gazed at Max, as if she was the stupidest thing in the world.
"You don't even have a single packet in your storage?" Max pleaded, but the cashier's sarcastic eye cock was answer enough. "It's just salt," John mumbled behind her. Of course, she thought, Just salt, it's not like someone's life hangs in the balance am I right? Max quickly paid for her things and stepped out into the humid breeze that forebodes a storm.
"Max!" John called out as she stumbled to her bike. He put up his arms, his raised eyebrows demanding a conclusion to their conversation. "Fine, tell your mom- shit, Dr. Corts, that I'll see her in school tomorrow." She shouted as she climbed on her bike, ready to go. She saw John bow dramatically as she turned out of the parking lot. "Typical," she rolled her eyes.
--
"Everything's settled and in place, I'm leaving," Sarah called out from the front door as she ransacked her purse for her car keys. Hints of the setting sun peeked through the thick clouds. Max, at the counter, was surprised. "There's still an hour on the clock," She pointed at the analog on the wall behind her. "Yeah and I looked after the counter for an hour in the morning so I think that evens out," She said without looking up.
"Dad's paying you extra for the days where he's gone, also you vacuumed out all the salt from the doors and windows without asking me, if anything you should be doing overtime." She stubbornly crossed her hands over her chest. Sarah sighed in exasperation and finally looked up, "Look, my kid's sick, hell knows how I've managed the weekend. It's just for a few days, he should be fine." Max couldn't overlook her worn out, pleading eyes. Still, she tried to put up a stern act, "Fine, but I won't edit your check out time in the logs."
"No problem kid," Sarah said as she plucked out her car keys and disappeared behind the glass doors. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Bean," She said sadly to the cat that had wandered into the reception from the living quarters. Bean took his rightful place on the counter and purred lightly.
It was the early hours of the night, when Bean grumbled and knocked over Max's open pencil case, the crash pulling her out of focus. She'd spent her time studying for an upcoming test, then reading up on ways to put a spirit to rest without salt. If books could laugh, they'd be rolling over breathlessly at her idiocy. She looked up at Bean, "Oh sweetie, you must be starving," She patted his head, and he grumbled a little more. She sighed, and kneeled to pick up the scattered contents of her case.
Max didn't notice the rain wet black Impala pull up in the parking lot.